


Don't Kill Each Other Tonight

by Atanau, kaijusizefeels



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Cock Rings, Collar, Dom Illya, Light Dom/sub, M/M, PWP, Sub Napoleon, collaborative writing, filthy filthy porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2019-05-31
Packaged: 2020-03-30 23:27:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19037689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atanau/pseuds/Atanau, https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaijusizefeels/pseuds/kaijusizefeels
Summary: PWP. FIlthy filthy PWP.





	Don't Kill Each Other Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> This story is only readable because of [ the_worrying_kind's](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_worrying_kind/works) amazing beta effort. Atanau and I wrote this without planning and inside Tumblr message in short snippets. It was super fun for us but was full of typos and mistakes. So you are all seeing it outside of Tumblr because of the_worrying_kind.
> 
> This is all terribly filthy and self-indulgent XD

 

“Don't kill each other tonight,” Gaby warns them before starting to walk to her own room, completely ignoring Napoleon’s wounded expression.

 

“Miss Teller!” he protests.

 

Illya watches Napoleon wave goodbye before gently closing the door. A final click indicates that Cowboy has also locked it. Napoleon turns around and looks at him expectedly.

 

“Room clean,” Illya tells him and waits for Napoleon to come closer but he lingers by the door instead. So, Illya takes a deep breath, squares his shoulders and approaches him slowly. "I won't kill you, no. But you got distracted today, almost got caught."

 

Illya traps Napoleon against the door, so that their bodies are teasingly close but not touching. He ignores Napoleon’s expectantly parted lips and growls in his ear instead, "you are a terrible spy, Cowboy."

 

Twelve months ago, Napoleon would have become defensive and made a cutting remark about Illya’s background or appearance. Now however, Illya’s American Cowboy presses forward into the line of Illya’s body and quietly says, “I’m sorry, Illya. I’m sorry to have worried you.”

 

Impossibly, Napoleon manages to press even closer; the top of his head slots underneath Illya’s chin while his nose nearly presses into the middle of Illya’s collarbone.

 

Illya sighs.

 

It is hard for him to punish his Cowboy normally. It is impossible for him to remain unmoved facing a contrite Cowboy.

 

“Bath,” he says instead before pressing a kiss to Napoleon’s forehead. The fluttering response of Napoleon’s long eyelashes makes Illya’s heart skip a beat. Illya places a hand on his nape, strokes the sharp line of his jaw and places another kiss on the tip of his nose before moving away. It's a special pleasure to watch Napoleon swaying his hips on the way to the bathroom. His suit is perfectly cut as usual; accentuating all the right curves.

 

Illya follows Napoleon and closes the door to the bathroom before turning to meet his gaze in the mirror. Illya reaches to undo the buttons of Napoleon’s vest and whispers "Don't think you are so easily forgiven.”

 

Napoleon gulps visibly at Illya’s words, so he moderates his tone, letting his Cowboy know that it’s not too serious.

 

Illya undresses Napoleon carefully as if he's unwrapping a precious present. It still boggles his mind that Napoleon _lets_ him do this, _wants_ him to do this if the scarlet flush and heavy lidded eyes are any indication.

 

"Please, Illya," Napoleon breathes when he has finally lost his patience. Illya has been admiring his naked form for nearly a minute now, staring at the exposed flesh with desire and hunger. And yet, the Russian agent still holds himself back.

 

Just when Napoleon thinks that nothing is ever going to happen, he finds himself suddenly lifted into a pair of strong arms. Napoleon has been there many times before; drugged, stabbed, beaten, shot. This is the first time that he has been in Illya's arms not after some daring rescue.

 

Napoleon blushes when he realizes that Illya has him in a bridal carry.

 

Illya puts him under the shower, makes sure that the water is warm and runs his fingers through Napoleon’s hair. He is eager to wash away all the product Napoleon uses to keep it slicked. Napoleon only allows his hair to curl naturally when he and Illya are alone like this.

 

Illya tugs it to angle Napoleon's head and licks the water off his neck. Only then they finally kiss properly, deep and slow. Napoleon moans and clings to him while Illya lets his hands roam over Napoleon's strong body. He spreads soap over Napoleon’s broad shoulders and back, and can’t resist the temptation of teasing slick fingers between his buttocks.

 

Napoleon gasps and arches, tugs on Illya’s hips to bring their cocks together. It makes Illya realize how hard they both are.

 

Napoleon starts leaking precum when Illya barely wraps his soapy hand around Napoleon’s erection. He loves how sensitive his Cowboy is to his touch.

 

“Illya, please.” To Illya’s immense pleasure, his Cowboy has already started to plead.

 

The words quickly turn into a whine when Illya bends and bites down on Napoleon’s right nipple.

  


Then he does the same to the left. Precum dribbles down Illya’s enclosed first. “Смотри, ты уже течешь ( _Look how wet you_ _already_ _are)”_ , he tells Napoleon in Russian. He’s just as turned on as Napoleon but Ilya likes how Napoleon blushes when Illya’s says filthy things in Russian.

 

Illya pushes a long finger inside Napoleon, moves it slowly and feels him tremble. Napoleon clutches at Illya’s shoulders and tries to bury his face in the Russian’s neck. But Illya wants to see every change of expression; wants to see him lost in pleasure, all of his masks long gone. He tugs at Napoleon’s hair again and catches another plea with his mouth.

 

“Are you ready to come already? From nothing but a finger inside of you?” Illya asks, his voice low and hungry. “Oh God, Illya, I …” Napoleon whimpers and throws his head back, exposing his neck for possessive bites.

 

Illya isn’t usually much of a talker, it’s Napoleon’s forte, but when his Cowboy is incoherent like this, flushed and pliant, something dark uncoils inside him. “It’s alright”, he says and inserts another finger into Napoleon’s clenching heat. “Come for me. And then I’ll take you again on those expensive sheets you like so much.” And just like that Napoleon spills between them with another long moan.

 

It’s a marvel how responsive he is, and Illya is oh so close himself, just from the sight before him. But then Napoleon slides along his body, drops to his knees and takes Illya into his mouth. Napoleon’s eyes are unfocused and he almost chokes trying to swallow too fast, and Illya can’t hold back anymore. He weaves his fingers into wet curls and tries not to choke Napoleon further as his rushing orgasm overtakes him like a rogue wave.

 

Illya pulls himself away at the last moment. Cowboy looks glorious painted and dripping with Illya’s seed across his cheek and thick lashes. “Грязный (Filthy)”, Illya growls in Russian before smearing his cum across Napoleon’s swollen lips with his fingers.

 

He captures the American in another possessive kiss. “Мой (Mine)”, Illya says when they pull apart for the need to breathe.

 

It’s a shame having to finally wash away his mark from Napoleon’s face. But from the way his normally unflappable Cowboy is blushing and licking his lips, Illya knows that he is already embedded deep, inside Napoleon’s skin.

 

Cowboy stays silent and docile while Illya towels them both dry. He’s always like that after an orgasm; relaxed and a bit needy for a cuddle, which is why instead of carrying him into the bedroom like he normally would, Illya commands, “crawl.”

 

Napoleon makes a sound almost like a mewl as he lowers himself on hands and knees, bumps his head on Illya’s knee and rubs his cheek on his shin before Illya moves to the bed. Napoleon manages to look graceful even crawling and stretches like a cat, showing off his flexibility. He reaches Illya and nuzzles his thigh asking for a caress. Illya chuckles and scratches his nape.

 

“Where are your toys, kitten?”, he asks. He knows Napoleon always has something interesting in his case and it’s not just his lock picks. Napoleon perks up and his eyes shine in anticipation. Still on his knees he turns to his things and before long pushes a plain box closer to Illya’s feet, waiting dutifully for his decision.

 

Illya opens the box; a plain, soft looking leather collar lays nestled in felt. He feels a corner of his mouth lift; his Cowboy is an odd one, storing his collar — made from one of Illya’s old belts — as if it is a piece of priceless treasure.

 

Napoleon nudges Illya’s knee again and gives a plaintive whine when Illya still hasn’t moved.

 

Illya takes out the collar and gently, but snuggly fits it around Napoleon’s neck. His eyes flash with heat when Napoleon’s adam’s apple barely clears the band as he swallows reflexively. Illya knows how much Cowboy likes the tight fit, a constant reminder that he’s owned.

 

Illya observes the shiny steel objects in the box and smiles. His cowboy has high standards and takes good care of his toys. He won’t tolerate the colorful monstrosities they saw in a special shop once.

 

Illya picks up a stainless steel cock ring and deliberately doesn’t try to warm it. Instead, he brings the cold metal to Napoleon’s nipple, which tightens immediately, then slides it along his quivering stomach and finally locks the ring around Napoleon’s cock. It’s a tight fit. Napoleon is already hard again and now he will stay that way for a while because Illya is going to take his time.

 

“So eager for me”, he teases and strokes Napoleon just once before moving his hand away.

 

Illya shushes Napoleon when he attempts to voice his complaint. “Good kittens don’t talk.” After a moment, Napoleon meows instead and licks Illya’s fingers plaintively to protest his unfair treatment.

 

Illya chuckles. “You’re supposed to be punished, remember, _kotik_.” Napoleon’s big blue eyes look even sadder but he remains silent. Illya strokes his flank in encouragement.

 

“Belt or my hand, _kotik_?”

 

It doesn’t escape Illya’s notice that Napoleon’s cock hardens a bit more in anticipation, despite the cock ring.

 

Napoleon rubs his cheek against Illya’s palm, making his choice known. Illya smiles.

 

He takes his time arranging Napoleon onto his lap, accidentally brushing against his kitten’s aching cock and shy hole. At the last moment, Illya remembers what he almost forgot.

 

“You thought I’d forget, _kotik_.” Illya shakes his head as he reaches back into the box and pulls out a silver chain with two clips on the end. Napoleon whimpers.

 

Illya tuts at his kitten and strokes his flank comfortingly. Napoleon settles down eventually so that Illya can grab a handful of that bountiful chest and attach the tiny delicate silver clip to a rosy peaky nipple. He seals his mouth over Napoleons to his kitten’s howl and quickly does the same to the other nipple.

 

Tears gather in the corners of Napoleon’s eyes when Illya cruelly tweaks at the silver chain and sets the two clips into motion so they yank and pull his stiff nipples every which way.

 

And they are so sensitive these days from Illya’s relentless attention; so much so that Napoleon feels that he could almost come with nothing but Illya's mouth and fingers on his chest. Except now, instead of gentle kisses and the occasional pinching, he feels as if the weight of the world is dangling between his bosoms; teasing his puffy red buds with pain one moment and cool metal comfort the next.

 

Napoleon only then realize that his squirming is also having an effect on illya. He rubs incessantly against the Russian’s sizable burgeoning erection.

 

In response, Illya tugs on the collar and growls “Keep still”. The first blow follows right after that and Napoleon cries out at the sudden sting. But it hurts so good! Napoleon loves the feeling of Illya’s hands on him, giving him pain and pleasure to the point when one becomes another.

 

The blows come constantly now and his head swims, he is floating, the events of the day far away. Napoleon never knew he needed this, never trusted anyone enough to try. But Illya he trusts with his life, it’s only natural to trust him with his body too.

 

Illya looks in wonder as his handprints bloom on the tender skin of Napoleon’s ass and have a hard time controlling himself. But it’s not about him right now, and he keeps going until he is sure Napoleon has nothing on his mind except the sensations Illya is giving him.

 

Napoleon sobs into the sheets but doesn’t try to move away and his cock leaks on Illya’s lap. By the time Illya stops they are both panting hard and sweating. He lightly strokes Napoleon's reddened buttocks, then, more firmly, his back and flanks. “Shh, my good little kitten.”

Illya savors the warm heat radiating from Napoleon’s rosy cheeks. Until Napoleon, he didn’t think that a man could have such soft, smooth skin. At last, he can't resist any longer and sinks his teeth into the taut flesh of Napoleon's left buttock.

 

Napoleon yelps, surprised. “Peril!! What are you doing!”

 

In lieu of a response, Illya bites him again. This time on the junction between Napoleon’s neck and shoulder. “Mine!” He growls.

 

“Yours.. yours...I'm yours Peril,” Napoleon moans as he writhes on Illya’s lap, held firmly in place by illya’s arms.

 

Illya slaps Napoleon lightly to make him move on the bed and reaches for the lube. Napoleon tries to stay on his hands and knees but he is shaking too much. Illya chuckles and pushes him to lie down, making Napoleon bite his lip as his abused nipples and neglected cock touch the sheets. It’s pure torture, he can’t keep still but every movement brings a new wave of heat that spreads through his body.

 

Illya distracts Napoleon with a line of wet kisses and bites along his spine, digs his fingers into the heated flesh of his ass cheeks and spreads them apart to lick a teasing line from his balls to his hole. Illya enjoys the surprised gasp that comes from above. He would love to work Napoleon open on his tongue, but it has to wait for later.

 

Right now his desire to claim Napoleon is too strong to resist. Illya rubs the lube around Napoleon's opening and slips two fingers inside easily. After this and the shower, Napoleon doesn’t need much more preparation. With a low moan, Illya replaces the fingers with his cock and buries his nose into Napoleon's messy hair to inhale his scent.

 

“Ты меня с ума сводишь (You drive me insane)”, he admits and feels Napoleon clench around him.

 

At that moment, Illya would give Napoleon anything he could ask for — his secrets, the KGB’s secrets. Thankfully, the only sound out of Napoleon’s mouth is a long sob of “Illya, Illya, illya...there.... there, there.”

 

These days, Illya is so in-tuned to Napoleon’s body; he knows exactly when he is nudging Napoleon’s prostate from the hitch in Napoleon’s hip, the way his breath stutters, how his hole flutters and gives more to Illya’s ramming cock. For now, he keeps his movements languid, teasing Napoleon only with the possibility of the heavy pounding that he goes wild for.

 

Illya sets their pace into slow rhythm, feeling Napoleon’s body sink and soften and give way to complacency. Illya grins before reaching down to tug sharply on the silver chain dangling between Napoleon’s nipples.

 

The change is instantaneous but illya is ready. A large hand grips strongly on Napoleon’s hip as his Cowboy howls and bucks up like a wild horse, “Illlyyyaaa!”

 

Napoleon’s channel tightens like a vice in response and somehow, somehow, draws Illya even deeper. “Napo—“ Illya isn’t able to finish before he loses his voice to a low deep groan.

 

“Ughh, ughh.” His hips stutter to a stop just so he can regain a semblance of control, somehow.

 

When Illya is sure he won’t lose it, he starts moving again. His cock barely leaves Napoleon’s body as he angles his hips so that the pressure on Napoleon’s prostate never eases.

 

Napoleon sobs and writhes and claws the bed; the sheets are wet under him and the pillow is wet from his tears. He never thought it possible for a man to have multiple orgasms, but here he is, feeling it again and again as Illya works him masterfully. Illya’s cock is nested so deep that Napoleon is sure he will feel it for days.

 

Illya holds on as long as possible but his patience is wearing thin as Napoleon reacts so beautifully to his every touch. When Illya finally starts fucking him in earnest, hard and fast, he feels inhuman, a relentless machine created for the sole purpose of ruining the great Napoleon Solo for everyone else. He doesn’t last long after that. Sinking his teeth into Napoleon’s collar, he comes deep inside with a desperate moan. Napoleon takes it all and tries to arch even more but Illya’s weight crushes him to the bed.

 

And despite Illya’s solid bulk, despite the snug ring around the base of his cock, Napoleon comes.

 

He comes over and over again, mind going hazy after riding the crest of pleasure for so long.

 

Maybe he is screaming Illya’s name, maybe he is sobbing with relief. He doesn’t know and won’t be able to recall later. He can barely feel his limbs, only a long taut line of pleasure from head to toe. Only Illya’s hold keeps him anchored and solid and warm.

 

Napoleon shudders and comes again and again. He’s still orgasming even after he has poured all of his seed onto the sheets, onto Illya’s greedy fingers. He still shivers and shakes with the intensity of it all. “Illya, Illya, Illya, hold me, hold me,” he begs with his mouth as his heart pounds love, love, love.

 

Illya turns them carefully to the side, hugs Napoleon from behind, mindful not to disturb the silver clamps. He covers Napoleon’s neck and shoulders with kisses, then mouths his collar gently. “Тихо, мой хороший, сладкий мой, тшш… (Shh, my good, my sweet, shh...)” Illya doesn't let go until Napoleon stops shivering and then moves him to lie on his back. Napoleon can barely open his bleary eyes and Illya smiles gently at him, wipes the tears from his cheeks, removes sweaty hair from his forehead.

Napoleon is barely coherent as he clings to Illya in return. Seeing him like this makes Illya’s heart clench and he never wants to leave their bed where the world outside doesn’t matter.

 

He knows he should let Napoleon rest, but before that, he needs to remove the toys he attached earlier. Despite his better judgment he just can’t resist mouthing the red puffy nipples that suffered so long. Napoleon mewls and tries to wriggle away. He is over-sensitive and wrung out. There is no way he can engage in this play any longer.

 

But Illya kisses him lower and lower, licks his soiled belly clean as he unfastens the useless cock ring and spreads Napoleon’s legs to look at his used hole. Napoleon covers his face with his hands and begs “Please, Illya, I can’t…” But at the same time, he wants Illya to keep going, and he is almost ashamed of his own wantonness.

 

Most people would say that Napoleon is a shameless showoff, but they’d be wrong. Illya knows how private Napoleon really is, how much effort he puts into constructing the smokescreen persona. He knows that those expensive bespoke suits aren’t meant to show off but to hide. He takes a great deal of pleasure slowly coaxing Napoleon’s trembling thighs far apart to reveal his wrecked, semen-coated hole.

 

Illya’s inner beast rumbles with satisfaction at the sight of his conquest; pale flesh battered rosy pink from his movements, once taut muscle struggling to keep ahold of Illya’s seed all inside. His Cowboy truly took it, took everything Illya could give, and even more importantly, judging by the way that Napoleon is still whisper-whimpering and shaking, loved every second of it.

 

“Beautiful.” He couldn’t help but bend down and kiss Napoleon right there. That’s all he meant to do but Napoleon’s beauty can make even good men do wicked things. Illya doesn’t break the kiss but instead, curls his tongue and scraps it inside and around Napoleon’s tender puffy rim, tasting himself combined with Napoleon.

 

Napoleon lets out a hoarse scream and clenches his trembling fingers into Illya’s hair. His spent cock twitches as Illya pushes his tongue deeper. He feels owned and for once in his life he doesn’t mind. There is no safer place than in Illya’s arms; there is no sensation more pleasurable than being cherished like this.

 

Illya leaves Napoleon’s opening wet and shiny and for a moment rests his cheeks on the smooth inner thigh. His possessive instinct finally satisfied, he comes up to enclose his exhausted Cowboy in a bear hug. Napoleon immediately hides his red face on Illya’s chest, and as they curl comfortably together, Illya absentmindedly strokes the leather collar still adorning Napoleon’s neck.

 

All of a sudden, like it’s the easiest and most natural thing in the world, Illya hears himself say, “I love you” for the first time in more than two decades. Who would have thought that he’d be saying those words to an American ex-CIA spy? Who would have thought that he’d be saying those words to the very man he wanted to strangle so badly in that public toilet in West Berlin?

 

But Napoleon must have fallen asleep already because the only thing he hears is those quiet breaths and the pounding of his own heart until— soft as a mouse, Napoleon stirs next to him and whispers, “ I... I love you too, Illya.”

 


End file.
